The Rules of Memory
by Ofi
Summary: Because you decide to break a rule.


It all starts because you decide to break the rules.

Tickets to the Broadway show as a wedding present are one thing, the occasional anonymous bouquet of flowers as well, but a phone call? Well that is an all together, far too personal and intimate of a gesture from your part and careens from your well known style. It breaks every rule you both unconsciously created the day you said your goodbyes.

But then again, you called her because you are at the point in your life when you are searching for answers and finding only more questions. And because you are starting to become frightened of what your life style is leaving you with because while you have many of the world's luxuries you find yourself with mostly nothing of meaning.

Her voice is pleasant when she answers her phone, you conned her cell phone number from Miwako with the promise of a ParaKiss reunion, and without second thought you offer a greeting and wait. The phone line goes dead silent for a split second, and you will be damned if you ever admit that you felt your insides freefalling. She laughs then, and says your name as if you had talked to her just yesterday instead of thirteen years ago, as if you had begged her to come to Paris with you instead of watching her walk away, as if you hadn't sent those tickets and instead stopped her wedding.

You ask asinine questions that tread lightly and do not require in-depth response, and you shy away all together from the topic of married life mentioning only briefly how much Arashi and Miwako and Isabella had loved the wedding. She corners you then when she says how much you would have liked the wedding too, and hadn't you gotten the invitation? But you know that she knows that the invitation is like the flowers and photo shoots that had wanted her and her alone at the request of some unknown benefactor, they are silent hellos from the past and painful glimpses of the future and they are never to be mentioned. She has broken a rule. But who are you to judge? You are the one who called.

So you decide to break yet another rule because, hell, you never really even spoke of rules and now they seem as silly and childish as she was when you first met her. You ask her to meet you and drink coffee, you contemplated dinner but that seemed a bit much. She pauses a bit, and you tell yourself that no of course you didn't stop breathing for those seconds, and she agrees. With breezy farewells you hang up the phone and stare at the picture on your desk, her laughing face in a second place dress. You wonder if she's crying, you wonder if she'll tell her husband.

That night as you sleep in your much too big for one person bed, you try and think of what you'll say to her. You fall into restless sleep, and dream of Isabella asking in her musical voice if you plan to stop the wedding, of Miwako and Arashi visiting and holding out a small photo album just in case you wanted to see her dress. You dream of each time you made her cry. When you wake up you realize that it's the first time in thirteen years that you've slept facing in that direction.

The café breaks another rule, you tell yourself as you make your way towards it. It is too small and warm; it beckons for its patrons to be themselves and to speak freely with their companion. And honestly that's the last thing you want to do because you're not sure where speaking freely will get you with her. An elegant dinner would have been better choice; you would have chosen an extravagant outfit, she perhaps would have arrived in the latest Parisian couture and thus could both play pretend. But it's too late for those thoughts now; it's too late for any thoughts really when you see long, straight, black hair.

You pull off your hat, and say her name, remembering when you once conjured doves out of another and her expression became full of childlike wonder; you are frightened of what expression will grace her features now. She rises from her chair and turns, you note one of your earlier, and more casual, creations on her and tell yourself that you're an idiot when she offers you a steady smile.

You take her hand and press it to your lips, remarking on how beautiful her wedding ring is.

Fin


End file.
